The Perfume of Evil
by CSI Clue
Summary: Read a Thon entry:Picture if you will, the Ninteen Thirties, with an Academic bespectacled Grissom and his bobhaired secretary discovering an evil from another world . . .
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

Under the light of the pale and sickly moon, the odd shadows along the road seemed to shift and blend in a weird trick of the eye, and Doctor Gil Grissom, professor of Ancient History at Arkham University, Rhode Island, found himself looking time and again in the rear view mirror, hoping desperately for the reassuring headlights of another vehicle.

Only the inky darkness met his questioning gaze though, and the silver taint of cold moonlight spilled over the landscape, turning it into something unworldly. The few sounds in the Duesenberg were the steady breath of air from the unrolled window, sending a chilled breeze into the dark vehicle, and the little murmurs of Sara's uneasy sleep as she shifted in the passenger seat, lost in a nightmare. She was paler than usual, and her thin shoulders hunched, as if warding off dream demons.

Grissom blinked and put his focus back on the road ahead of them, trying not to think of what might be haunting her. He had far too many ghastly memories of his own, and no way to purge them for the moment, those eldritch mental scars still fresh and glistening on his brain, legacy of this last case, and destined to haunt him for many nights to come . . .

_March 31__st__—_

_Distressing news here from the hospital. Doctor Robbins has received a fifth body now, mutilated in the same bizarre fashion as the others—missing her tongue and the ring fingers of both hands, eviscerated and with a large letter V burned into her forehead. This corpse is older; a mature woman who also bears signs of time out in the wilderness. The local police have identified her as Helen Matteos, domestic, lately of Innsmouth, Rhode Island._

_I have yet to do my own examination of the corpse—it is scheduled for this afternoon._

_Nothing links Mrs. Matteos socially to the other victims—yet. My dear secretary, Sara, is still checking the woman's employment records and reference and Captain Brass is still making his inquiries. Both processes will take time—time I fear we may be losing._

_I have both Mister Hodges of the laboratory and his assistant Warrick working on isolating any traces of odd materials on the woman's clothing and personal effects, and without a doubt we will find more of the mysterious silt on our victim as well. The puzzle continues._

_April 3d—_

_Captain Brass tells me that an agent from the Federal Bureau of Investigation is coming in later this afternoon to look into our case. I have my doubts about the usefulness of this action—the Bureau's main function concerns itself with interstate crime and bootleggers primarily, nevertheless I'll join Brass and the gentlemen for lunch and see what brings the interest of the government into these murders. Horrific as the killings are, they seem to have been confined to our little jurisdiction here so far . . . or is it possible there have been other occurrences in the country?_

_This is a disquieting thought, for if true, it would mean that these murders are not the work of an individual, but possibly of some highly organized group. _

_**Later—**_

_The meeting was more productive than I had anticipated, and more disturbing. The young agent in question—Mr. Nicholas Stokes—brought with him a keen interest in the murders that have shocked our little community here in Lowcroft, and a desire to learn more about their particulars. From his manner and conversation, I gather that Special Agent Stokes has some prior knowledge of the Occult; this was confirmed by his admission that he had studied under Pendergast and West in Louisiana, and indeed, his very drawl gives him away as a son of the Lone Star State. _

_It's rare to find a person open-minded to concepts beyond those of accepted thought, and Special Agent Stokes lends credibility to our evolving theory about the murders. Over quahog chowder and baked bluefish, the three of us: Captain Brass, myself and Agent Stokes laid out the fundamentals of the case._

_At the beginning of March, the local authorities were summoned to the site of a horrific murder. A body was found in the Flaxton woods, a lonely stretch of scrub on the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic. The body was that of a laborer, unknown then and now, but unofficially recognized as 'old Milt' a local eccentric who did odd jobs in the town of Lowcroft. He was a dour man, not given to conversation, and those who knew and hired him weren't able to supply the authorities with a surname for the unfortunate._

_His was not the only body, but it was the first, and bore what were to be the trademarks of the case: the ring fingers of his hands had been cut off, as had his tongue. He had been eviscerated as well, and most unnerving of all, a large letter 'V' had been burned into the flesh of his forehead, above and between the old man's eyes. The authorities failed to recover any of appendages or organs, and wanted to dismiss them as scavenged by predators, but the edges of the body wounds were too clean to have been made by anything other than a knife or razor._

_Inquiries revealed that while 'old Milt' had been a self-contained individual, no one in the town held enough animosity towards him to do away with the old man, and if robbery had been the motive, then the perpetrators would have absconded with fewer than five dollars at most. _

_There did not seem to be an overt cause of death—no strangulation marks or other wounds of any kind; no poison in his system or broken spine. Nothing to indicate how he came to be dead prior to the disembowelment._

_It was definitely a puzzle._

_Then, another body was found, a few nights later, not more than a mile from where Milt's had been located. This was the body of a taxi driver out of Innsmouth, one Emile DeRondeaux. He was found several yards away from his vehicle on a lonely stretch of road running from Lowcroft to Innsmouth, and in a condition similar to that of the first victim. The police approached me at that point, well-aware of my interest in unusual crimes and my assistance in previous cases. Captain Brass in particular remembered me from the Merton River case and came calling at my office in the university._

_Sara, my dear and invaluable secretary was there to usher him in and take notes of our conversation. I would be lost without her efficient assistance and of late, her comforting company. She is uniquely qualified to complement my foibles and tolerate my stodgy ways. Of late I have found my respect and admiration for her deepening, and am in a quandary as how best to make my feelings known._

_In any case, Sara settled down to take steno notes as Captain Brass shot her an apologetic look. She was made of sterner stuff, however and looked to me for support, which I gave immediately._

"_Sara is more than capable of hearing the pertinent facts, Captain. She's attended autopsies with me in the past."_

"_If you say so," he acquiesced, and cleared his throat. Carefully he laid out the facts that I have noted above, and although Sara paled, she kept to her pad and pen while I absorbed the whole of the murder._

_Particularly intriguing were the ritualistic aspects of the mutilations; the missing fingers and the burned letter V. Many a murderer has eviscerated his victims, intentionally or not, but the added symbolism of the letter in particular spoke in my mind to a darker motivation behind the killings. Brass himself agreed, and felt that the letter clearly symbolized something, but had no immediate theories as to what._

_I promised to research what I could about the letter in question, and see if I could find anything relating to the missing digits or the eviscerations within my resources._

_And that was where we were as the next three bodies came to light._

_Special Agent Stokes listened attentively to all that Captain Brass and I knew about the murders, not interrupting us during our recitation. When we were done, he looked to me keenly. "Do you have a hypothesis, Professor Grissom?"_

"_I do," I told him slowly, "Although it seems fantastical in the light of day. Nevertheless, my assistant and I have found three references to ritualistic murders that match the particulars of this case. The first is in Grildon's tome __The Hidden Realms of Leng and the Peoples Thereof,__ in which the author describes a ritual that he was told of, a sacrifice to a Great Old One who was not named for fear of terrible retribution."_

"_And where IS Leng?" Captain Brass asked curiously. "The Andes? Asia?"_

"_Neither—an expedition from the University placed it in Antarctica three years back. The records are sealed, but I knew of it," I replied. "A disaster. Nevertheless—"_

"—_Nevertheless, we have more of a clue than we did before," Special Agent Stokes nodded. "What WAS written about this ritual, Professor?"_

_I consulted the notes that Sara had compiled with me, looking over the neatly typed paragraphs. "It says that Grildon's guide took him to see quote, "The body of a young woman, laid on a dais of hewn stone, her internal organs removed through a surgery so skillful that no trace of viscera was left. Her third fingers had been severed cleanly, and upon her head smoldered the brand of a V, viciously burned there. Hai-El, our guide assured us that this offering was necessary to insure the goodwill of the Great Old One that the people worshipped in deep fear and horror, unquote."_

"_Sounds like our cases right here," Captain Brass pointed out, "Without the stone altar."_

"_But they were all found at night?" Special Agent Stokes asked, and I appreciated the thoughtfulness of the question. Captain Brass nodded._

"_Yep. And all of them were found outside, in uninhabited areas. One in Flaxton woods, one along Cut Crow Road, two by the old mill at Dunwich pond and this latest out on the salt marsh."_

"_I'd say those point to a more sinister connection," Special Agent Stokes commented, and I had to agree. _

_I had no small experience with ancient religions and my last published academic paper on the sub cults of the Kali had been received with interest by the leading academics in the field of Eastern Religion. To my frustration however, few of them were willing to listen to my more singular theories of inter-dimensional influences among those same cults but I bided my time and continued to collect evidence, evidence that further built my case and strengthened my resolve. Some day and soon, I WOULD publish my theories._

_In any event, the discovery of more bodies with the same gruesome and sadistic mutilations claimed my immediate focus, and with Captain Brass counting on my help in finding the common focus of this madness, I returned my attention to the concrete aspects of the situation._

_It was Sara who provided the first useful clue in the mystery, and her keen observation came about in one of those random moments of serendipitous observation. I had a map of our local lands spread out across the work desk in my office, with the sites of the bodies marked in graphite pencil. There seemed to be no discernable pattern to the casual eye. Sara had brought me my coffee (Wedgwood china cup, two lumps of sugar and a dollop of fresh cream) when she glanced down at the map that was continuing to flummox my common perceptions. She handed the cup to me and quietly remarked, "The center is Enoch's Hill, but I suspect you know that, sir."_

_I looked up. Long ago Sara and I had reached an agreement about terms of address, appreciating the finesse of other societies, where an employee and employer might find respect and affection with terms that seemed formal and cold on other ears. Her use of 'sir' was a matter of propriety, but under it was warmth meant for me alone._

"_So is Marochett Pond and the hamlet of Saltmire, dear girl," I replied._

"_Not to the same point of convergence," she countered and drew a finger from the site of Old Milt's murder to that of the cabby. "This line from the first to the second passes through Enoch's Hill, as you can clearly see. And the point from the third murder is not only equidistant from the other two, but if you draw a line from it to the fourth murder . . . "_

_And with graceful casualness she proceeded to draw invisible lines with her pretty finger, passing each time through Enoch's Hill._

"_I see—you're right; the intersection point of all the murders is clearly the hub of Enoch's Hill. How did you ever come to realize that, Sara?"_

"_You had me researching ley lines last year, and I recalled that one of the few ever mentioned in context to our own country was thought to pass through Enoch's Hill. I kept my eye on it as a matter of course when you began to mark the sites of the murders. By the third one, I began to see a pattern, but I could not be sure of it until the fourth, unfortunately."_

"_Refrain from self-blame, dear Miss Sidle—I am certain the murder would have happened in any case, and your perception is exceedingly useful."_

_She smiled and looked down; a habitual gesture of hers that I find adorable. I picked up my ancient and tattered copy of Von Mare's __Botanica Malificus__ and opened it to a page I had saved with a scrap of paper. "I myself have had some luck in finding a reference to the 'V' mark on the foreheads of the sacrificial victims."_

"_You are convinced they are deliberate sacrifices, Professor?" she asked me, and I nodded confidently._

"_Indeed I am. Aside from the account from the Leng Expedition, I've found another reference to them in a passage on the rare plants of the inner mountains of Tang-Teshi. According to Von Mare—" and here I read the passage aloud, "The tribe of the Tang-Teshi worship a deity that holds the form of a many-tentacled, grotesquely gigantic fungus. This God of theirs is much feared and held in quaking awe by the savages, who offer up sacrifices of slaughtered animals to it. The villages of the Teng-Teshi each have a cave-like shrine to their plant-God, and only the Chosen Servants who have breathed in the perfumed spores may dare speak in the name of the Enticer, Vulthoom."_

"_Vulthoom?" Sara asked uncertainly. I nodded, feeling the same tinge of amusement and fear roil up in me at the odd name. It was no laughing matter to have five deaths possibly attributed to this monster, but at the same time, the name itself was very odd._

_I shrugged. "Heathen tongues and poor translations I suspect, but the account is reliable, despite Von Mare's untimely end. If there is a cult of Vulthoom here, it must be fairly small—barely an off-shoot, if you will permit me the pun."_

_Sara shot me a look that I can only describe as tolerant. "You have made better bon mots," she told me in that low voice of hers, "but if in fact you are correct in identifying our horror here as said cult then I shall forgive you . . . sir."_

"_Then my world shall be complete—now let us inform Captain Brass and see if a cautious trip to Enoch's Hill is in order." At her anticipatory glance I shook my head. "I think not, Sara—there are too many possible dangers, and I doubt the good captain will permit you to join us in any case."_

"_I find that chauvinistic and unjust," she murmured, a mutinous look in her rich umber eyes. "Not only am I a better shot than you—no offense meant, Professor, but if my help proves out the case then I DESERVE to see it through to the end!"_

"_Logical as your argument might be dear girl, this trip is now under the captain's jurisdiction, and while I might have sway in an academic sphere, I have little to none in martial matters."_

_I left Sara fuming in my office, and felt badly for her, but I'd only spoken the truth, painful as it was._

_End of part one_

_\_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Evening, April 4**__**th**__**--**_

_Brass was grateful for the new information and wanted to bring a few officers along with us on the foray to Enoch's Hill. It took but short a while to collect two men and deputize them; my own oath from earlier in the year was still valid. Special Agent Stokes joined us and his eagerness left me feeling a sense of unease. He'd been attentive during our lunch, but now his concentration seemed to be entirely on the hunt itself. As he loaded the trunk of my Duesenberg with several shotguns and boxes of shells, I began to feel a serious sense of misgiving._

_I attributed it to nerves—none of us truly comprehended what we were going up against, and history teaches that it's far better to be over prepared than under. Nevertheless, by the time the men and Captain Brass climbed into their own vehicle and began to drive, I couldn't help but feel a tingle at the back of my neck at the grim expression on Special Agent Stokes' face._

_He accompanied me in my car and our first few miles were silent. When I finally ventured to speak, He started, as if startled out of an inner contemplation._

"_You seem exceedingly focused, Agent Stokes," I ventured gently, and the younger man flashed me a brief smile in return._

"_Yes sir I am at that. I'm merely considering that should we be facing a cult of some sort, we may not be . . . recognized as the authorities that we are, Professor. I'm fairly sure I can take care of myself, and that Captain Brass and his men are good, but to be honest, sir, I'm not sure it's a good idea for you to be here with us."_

_I frowned. First Sara, and now this—I felt a resentment well up in me, but Special Agent Stokes spoke again, his tone placating. "I mean no disrespect, sir, but Captain Brass and I are trained to protect and serve the public; if we should fall in the line of duty it's part of our vocation, whereas if it happens to a distinguished civilian like yourself, it becomes a true tragedy."_

_His words mollified me somewhat; I smiled benignly at him in all his youthful earnestness. "I appreciate your candor and your concern, Agent Stokes, but this isn't the first time Captain Brass and I have dealt with . . . the unknown. Our little province here in Rhode Island often runs to the melancholy, and it's difficult for newcomers to understand the humors that pervade our way of life. James Ezekiel Brass and I know our home ground, lad, and that can make a great deal of difference in the outcome tonight."_

_He looked as if to argue with me, but thought better of it, and after a moment flashed me a rueful grin. "Back home we have a saying that fits I guess—'To know the land, follow the coyote."_

_I laughed at that, not realizing it would be a long time until I did so again. We followed Cut Crow road, passing the low gorse and nettle shrubs that lined the roads, keeping an eye on the red tail lights of Brass's Packard 120 ahead of us. The road was uneven, and I had a time of it keeping the Duesenberg steady, especially when we turned and began to head along the dirt road that led to Enoch's Hill. _

_It was a desolate place even in daylight, but here in the twilight it was awash in some nameless miasma that hung in the still air like a fog. I'm not a man prone to flights of fancy or nameless fears, nevertheless the mood now was somber. The coolness of night stretched out over the land, and with it came the eerie shadows of the trees, reaching out dark fingers across the road._

"_Sure is . . . creepy," Special Agent Stokes murmured uneasily. I felt it too, but I wanted to reassure him, so I gave a grunt. We were approaching the mound known as Enoch's Hill; it rose along the horizon, uneven and irritating to the senses, a misshapen unsymmetrical tor. Brass's car slowed ahead of us and stopped beside a stunted pine, twisted by the wind. I climbed out and we joined up, looking around cautiously._

"_The road ends here, but I spotted some tire marks through the grass leading up towards the hill, so we're on the right track," Brass assured us, his voice low and tense. "We haven't heard anything, but you know how these places are."_

_I did indeed. The bogs and long stretches of wild land had the unnerving ability to play up tricks of the imagination, and even sensible folk avoided them after dark. Brass and his men were no fools, and stood grim-faced as Special Agent Stokes passed out the weapons to us. Each man checked his shotgun, and when all were in readiness, Brass took the kerosene lantern and led the way._

_The wind was coming up now, in brief, surly gusts, and we moved along the dark, rutted tracks, no one speaking. Before us rose the stone knoll of Enoch's Hill, named for an ancient settler of these parts, and kin to a family of queer, morose farmers who kept to themselves and rarely mingled with anyone from the neighboring towns. New England was full of such families; founded by flint-hard patriarchs and fueled by suspicion and tradition. The Eyretons, the Broughmans, the Sawneys—names that made the tongue flinch and the shoulder quiver._

_I made my way up the line to walk beside Brass, and we strode together in silence for a few moments. Gradually he lifted his gaze from the darkness ahead of us and breathed in. Curious, I followed suit, but smelt nothing more than salt air and pine. He looked troubled._

"_Smells of a rotted rose. Dank, but sweet."_

_This was a disturbing development, and I spoke softly. "That will be the incense of the cult. We must be close."_

_Brass nodded soberly and held the lantern higher. We were nearly at the foot of the hill now; it loomed over us in the darkness. One of the other men coughed a little and we all looked to him as he shook his head. "Lord, it stinks like an old bouquet on a grave," he mumbled. The others nodded as I reached into my pocket and pulled my handkerchief out, holding it to my face. They followed suit, and in the pause we heard the low drum of chanting._

_The hair on the back of my neck went up; I saw Brass's fingers tighten on his shotgun. He gave a single nod and slowly led the way toward the sound, which grew louder as we followed it to the south side of the crag. The scent, which had eluded me earlier came through now, and I too breathed in the curious reek of mildew and rose as it hung heavily in the air. My handkerchief filtered out what it could, but the odor seeped in past the linen and I found myself growing faintly light-headed on it._

_Brass slowed, his lantern swaying slightly and I looked beyond him to what appeared to be a low opening in a cave. There had been stories that such a cavern existed, and now proof visible stood before my eyes. A low red light came from it, like the glow of some infernal forge. The men around me shifted uneasily, and I could see doubt on their faces above their handkerchiefs._

_Before any of us could say anything, and formulate some sort of plan, a low voice spoke out, and we all looked to the mouth of the cave from where it came. A robed figure strode out, not tall, but full of purpose, and clearly unafraid of us. I looked carefully but didn't recognize the man at first. Then he pushed back his hood, and in the reflection of Brass's lantern I saw a round shouldered man with short dark hair and tortoiseshell glasses blinking at us._

_He didn't look surprised to see us; next to me, Brass growled a little. "David Phillips—"_

_I blinked. "Phillips?" I knew that the meek head groundskeeper for Arkham University was an underestimated young man with a true talent for horticulture, but for him to be involved in this . . . _

"_The same, Captain Brass. We've been expecting you for a while now—" came the man's pleasant reply. "And Professor Grissom—the one other person who might make things difficult for us. How convenient to have you both here."_

_His tone was mild, but his words implied a more sinister intent. Brass shifted his shotgun up, but the barrels of it wavered slightly. I confess I too was feeling dizzy at that point. David Phillips spoke again, a slight gloat in his tone. "I see you all have inhaled the perfume of our Great One. It's difficult—nearly impossible to resist, you know. A few more deep breaths, gentlemen, and your wills shall break."_

_I shook my head hard, despairing at his calm words, but feeling the insidious languor steal over me. The reek of rotting roses was stronger now, and other hooded figures slipped out from the cave, moving among us, collecting the shotguns from our unresisting grips. David Phillips nodded, pleased. He smiled, and in that gentle expression I saw an unearthly emerald gleam in his eyes._

"_Excellent—take them to the inner sanctum," he commanded in a low tone._

_We tried to resist, but it was just as predicted; our wills had faded along with any serious resistance we might have made. I struggled, but faintly, and we were herded in, our hands bound before us with thin hemp rope of a strange green color. Inside, the cave was far larger than I expected, a regular cathedral hollowed out of the hill, and I had no idea if it was a natural formation, or if it had been hewn this way. The flickering red light we had seen came from torches mounted along the walls, the stone above each cut with a hole to allow the smoke to escape._

_Would that we could escape! I vowed to keep my eyes open and see if there was any way in which it could be accomplished, but the more I saw, the more stunned I was as the depth and degree of evil here. The company inauspiciously numbered thirteen, all of them robed, their faces obscured by their hoods. Judging from the variety in sizes, I knew there were women among them._

_The very unreality of the situation, along with the fumes, made all that followed seem unearthly, and nightmare-like. I and the others were led deeper in, towards what appeared to be a flat dais of polished green granite shot through with veins of red. It was an unsettling slab, and I thought immediately of the legends I had read. There were heavy silver rings mounted at the corners, and more disturbingly, a deep channel carved all around the outer edge of the surface, like a moat, about the width of two fingers._

_An altar! I wanted to tell Captain Brass and Special Agent Stokes, but my tongue was numb from the acrid bite of the perfume around us. Helplessly I stared at it, aware of the sacrificial purpose of the stone when the five of us where pushed to our knees before it._

_The soft voice of David Phillips came out again, from somewhere behind me. "Tonight, my brethren, we succeed—the host of Vulthoom will accept his pollination, and our Great One will finally take root. Too long he has lain dormant, dreaming in his thousand year prison on Mars,; too long he has been denied transplant to this planet, and the rightful place as head of all life here on Earth. We will be witness to his seeding and nourish his growth with the bone meal of these men."_

_I shuddered at his words, aware of the death sentence within them, and looked to Brass next to me. He was pale and sweating, his pupils dilated and I suspected my own were as well. The other men looked just as drugged, and just as helpless. The voices around us rose in a low murmur and I shifted my gaze, looking to see what stirred the gathering._

_I realized that in the deep shadows behind the altar stood the figure of a woman. Dimly, David Phillip's words about a host and seeding came back to mind, and I pitied the unknown young victim for her part in this horrific ritual. With fresh determination, I began to look about in earnest, trying to find some way out of this nightmare._

_The way in lay behind us; before us stood the altar and the cleft in the rock where the young sacrifice stood in the darkness. Since I was on the right most end of the kneelers, I could see another passageway there, almost hidden in the rock. Cool air came from it, and I deduced that it was another exit, towards the East._

_I looked higher, and noted the jagged ceiling, with a long fissure passing overhead, and to my left, my fellow line of prisoners and the rest of the chamber. David Phillip spoke again, still in his deceptively pleasant voice. "Bring forth the Vessel of Vulthoom; She who will bear his Seed—"_

_Two robed figures moved to the shadows behind the altar and guided the victim out; I gave a low cry of pain upon seeing Sara, blank-faced and unaware of her fate. My beautiful Sara—she was in her slip, and even as we watched in horror, the robed attendants ripped it from her, exposing her sleek, pale flesh! The torch light reflected off the hideous altar, and sparkles flickered across her naked body._

_I was in anguish; torn between watching her and wanting to turn away and spare her the humiliation! Impotently I struggled with my bonds as next to me, Brass did the same. A hard cuff across the back of his skull nearly knocked him to the floor. I glared up at the hooded figure next to David who had dealt the blow._

_A stream of profanity the likes of which I had not thought myself capable of issued from my lips, terrible and wild. David Phillips merely frowned._

"_Move them to the wall—nothing must interfere with the Pollination."_

_I fought, but there were too many of them, and one by one we were unceremoniously dumped against the back wall. I struggled, but with every twist, the bond around my wrists tightened painfully, and I noticed for the first time that what I had thought was hemp was in fact a vine—and a living one at that. Bass slumped, semi-conscious, and the other men, Special Agent Stokes among them were still heavily under the sedation of the perfume in the air._

_In despair I looked to Sara; she stood like the Goddess she was, passive and glorious in her nudity. David Phillips moved towards her and bowed._

"_We welcome She who will bring the Glorious Vulthoom to full flower," he murmured in admiration. His tone brought forth a fresh wave of anger in me, and I brought my wrists up to my mouth and bit the vine around them in an attempt to free myself._

_The bitter taste of the vine washed the perfume from my senses and I worked my teeth harder against the tough fibers, feeling them slowly begin to part. The process meant I could no longer easily look at Sara, but since everyone else in the cavern was, my actions went unnoticed. I worked my jaws and managed to chew though enough of my bonds to thin them in the next few minutes, and with a hard tug, I snapped them. _

_My hands were free; my senses renewed for the moment. I longed to expectorate and rid my mouth from the vile taste of the vine, but I knew it was the only thing keeping my head clear. I carefully looked around._

_Sara was being bowed to by the assembled ground of hooded figures, who were chanting "Mars, Cykranosh, Djhibbis, Eibon! Ghlonghs, Morghi, Vulthoom!" with terrible enthusiasm, their voices melding in hideous harmony. She swayed slightly, and I blushed hard at the gleam on her bare skin, but I kept my head and looked further around the cavern._

_As luck would have it, the shotguns had been stacked neatly along the wall just out of reach. I would have but one chance to grab one in the moment while the cult was readying Sara for her hideous fate. I slowly inched myself back, moving stealthily until my arm could reach back for the wooden stock of the closest weapon._

_Success. I pulled the shotgun to me, sliding it along the rocky floor, realizing that my time was now limited. Already the members were guiding Sara towards the polished granite slab, and in a moment they would tie her down to it, there to await a doom I dared not contemplate._

_At that moment I saw the rise of something else beyond the granite slab, and bit back a cry of shock and horror as the long tentacles rose up behind my beloved Sara. They were mottled green and red; repugnant fleshy limbs as thick as young trees and horribly animated; should I live to a hundred I will never forget the vile way they slithered and moved towards Sara, seeking out her innocent form as she stood before the unholy altar._

_I snapped, and swinging the shotgun up, I fired one round high up overhead, hitting the fissure overhead and bringing down a hard avalanche of stone and sand upon us all. In the confusion, I leapt forward and seized Sara's wrist, pulling her to me. The cult members shrieked and panicked, moving towards the tentacles in an effort to protect their unspeakable God Monster from the falling debris that was raining down. I looked to Brass and the others in an attempt to rouse them, but to my horror, the green vine bonds around their wrists had melded with the flesh, and as they opened their eyes to look at me, all I saw in them was the same emerald gleam that had so marked the glance of David Phillips._

_They had been absorbed somehow; drained of their humanity by the rooted coils around their wrists. _

_Several of the cult members ran towards me, and I swung the shotgun upwards, firing once more to the widening split in the cavern roof. The second shot from the weapon hit harder, and the top of the cavern began to collapse in earnest now. Moving with desperate haste, I dragged the pliant Sara behind me towards the passageway hidden in the rock._

_We plunged into the darkness since there were no torches here, and I felt the heavy rumble of the cave in behind us; the rush of hot air and screams and the wet squelch of crushed plant echoed in my ears. The next half hour was a nightmare of panic and blindness—I dared not let go of Sara's wrist as I felt along the narrow tunnel in the cold stone of Enoch's Hill with my free hand, trying desperately to find the way out, and praying that nothing would follow us._

_Momentarily deafened, I had to rely on touch and smell to locate the thin traces of cool air that led in the right direction. Sara let me tug her along, neither resisting nor helping, but by the time we reached the blessed open stillness of night outside, she was starting to cough. I slipped off my coat and dressed her in it, stroking her hair and calling her name as I held her to me tightly._

_She shook violently, and when she raised her face to mine I could see the horror and fear in her eyes, which mercifully stayed the same lovely shade of brown they had always been. No green tinted her gaze and I hugged her gratefully._

"_Oh Gil!" she murmured in a broken sorrowful tone, and shook her head hard, "The others . . . ?"_

"_I don't know," I replied heavily, my heart aching for the loss of Brass, Special Agent Stokes and the two deputies._

_We made our way widdershins around Enoch's Hill and found the cars; Sara spoke of hers being further back along the road, and how she'd suffered a flat tire in an attempt to reach the site before us. Her pride had nearly cost her her life, but I was in no mood to chide her about it; not with the death of four men on my own conscience. Numbly we climbed into the Duesenberg and I drove us back to the main road._

_My watch had stopped, but by the stars overhead I judged it to be nearly three in the morning; the dead, still, soulless time of night. Looking up through the windscreen I noted that Mars was unusually close, and shuddered._

_November 24__th__—_

_Nine months have passed since the horrible events of Enoch's Hill and the cult of Vulthoom came into our lives. Sara and I rarely speak of it, and yet it hangs over us always._

_We left, she and I, fleeing Rhode Island and departing that same night. Fear drove us on—had we reported the cave in, misguided rescuers might have attempted to free the abomination under the stone. Brass and Stokes were reported missing, and after a few months the local papers dropped the story._

_My own disappearance was barely a ripple in the academic world; I penned a polite notice of resignation and mailed it to the university on our way out of state, letting the chancellors know that I was pursuing my own line of study in Europe and that I would give them an address shortly._

_This I have not done, nor do I intend to—not with the possibility of Vulthoom's followers tracking us. Sara and I have made our way through the Southwest, and found a quiet town in the deserts of Southern Nevada._

_There is little greenery here._

_I have a comfortable fortune saved up, and the two of us have married. We read the papers carefully, and hold each other at night, finding comfort in our new lives. We have spoken about starting a family._

_And late into the night, we both study the stars, and keep a close eye on Mars in the inky night sky._

_Fin_


End file.
